


E2, Brute?

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8078338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: When all is past, who will care about the future?  Postep, 3.21 "E2." (02/04/2005)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: All I have of Season 3 is the snippets from STM and your fic. From those sources I have deduced that the ep 3.21 "E2" involves a future Enterprise where Archer could be/is dead, T'Pol/Mrs Tucker is in command and Reed died both lonely and alone, not a good combination. Plus, I really enjoyed 'Remains' by Leah, especially Trip's line; "I can't believe I ever loved you." This line is slowly driving me nuts. PS Started summer of 2004, (hopefully) ended 2005. Seeing as how it's only January this ETA seems optimistic enough!  


* * *

"May I speak with you, Commander?" 

Commander Tucker glanced up from his repairs and had to fight against a nauseating wave of de ja vu. 

"Of course, Sub... Captain. What do you need?" 

The still graceful Vulcan gestured to the side. "A few moments of your time?" 

Tucker nodded and preceded the captain into an alcove. Or at least what was once an alcove--the little hidey hole in which Rostov had held his 'Classic Tetris Tournaments' was no more, now it opened out into a large hydroponics bay. Tucker sighed. Another difference. 

"Yes, ma'am?" He crossed his arms. 

"Commander Tucker." T'Pol stopped and suddenly snorted. Tucker blinked in surprise. "Forgive me," T'Pol continued, "I did not anticipate this conversation to be quite so... freaky." 

"Okay," Tucker said slowly, a mite freaked himself. 

An almost-smile waved across T'Pol's face. "You once told me that it did not matter if I could not express my emotions completely." 

"Is that a fact?" 

"Oh, yes. Indeed, you opined that you had more than enough emotion to cover both of us, if I remember correctly." 

"Right." Tucker frowned. Well of course she'd remember correctly. Sure did sound like a typical Tucker comment. Flirty, with just the right side of sincere. Not that he didn't mean it. Or was going to mean it. Or might have meant it. This was just too damn weird. 

"What do you want, Captain?" "Commander, I believe I am going to commit a crime." 

"What?" Tucker goggled. 

"I am about to commit a murder," T'Pol said serenely. "I am about to kill my son." She sat on the green carpet of grass and gestured courteously beside herself. "Please, sit." 

The Commander stumbled to her side, "Your son? Our son. Lorian? Murder?" 

"Yes." 

Malcolm Reed stared at the entry on the screen. 

"Reed, Malcolm; Lieutenant." 

So, never got that promotion. Never mind the energy barrier, or the recalibration of the phase pistols, or the synchronised torpedoes. No promotion. 

"An exemplary officer on ship. He runs a tight department. However, I feel that Mister Reed needs to learn to trust his subordinates and his superiors. At present he is a 'lone gun'. And I can't have that. Whatever his shortcomings in command, I believe that Mister Reed's tactical and strategic knowledge will be beneficial to any military operation, in a subordinate capacity." 

Reed flicked off the screen. He'd seen enough. More than enough. 

He should not have looked for the files. Well, he didn't; strictly speaking. He had been looking for references to the Xindi. And he had found them. For 117 years the Xindi had been this crew's bogeymen. And now this crew was here. Ready to fight their demons. It was a pity that the Xindi, from what Enterprise had found over the course of their journey through the Expanse, were as much victims of circumstance as anybody else. 

And Reed had died. 

He. Him. Malcolm Reed had died. Me. 

His only memorial was a footnote. Not even recorded by the captain, but by Hayes. Bloody Hayes. "Reconnaissance of planet X42 unsuccessful. No Xindi presence detected. Additional; Loss of Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, in action." 

Reed played it back over and over again. 

'Dead, in action.' 

He said the words slowly. 'Dead, in action.' 'In action.' 'Dead. In action.' Inaction. Inaction. Inaction. 

Reed gazed stupidly at his raised fist and then curled it quietly in his lap, leaving his other hand to massage his sore thigh. 

He had a job to do. And it wasn't getting done sitting around feeling sorry for himself. 

Reed straightened away from the computer screen nodding to himself. 

There was nothing in his past or future that was unexpected. It was as simple as that. As a boy he had reached for the stars, as a man he had grasped them, as an officer, a soldier he knew what he had to do. 

He had to die. 

"Are you crazy?" 

"I do not believe so." 

Tucker wondered anew how he could have possibly ended up in a relationship, hell, a marriage, with T'Pol. 

"We were both vulnerable." 

Tucker blinked again. It wasn't enough that he had married an alien, she had to be telepathic too. "Is that right? When were you vulnerable?" 

"Always. I concealed my feelings as a Vulcan must." T'Pol sighed. "There are, were, three men in my thoughts. Captain Archer for his bravery and sacrifice, Lorian as the continuation of my blood and... Malcolm." 

Tucker was slightly miffed that he, her husband, did not feature in her Chosen Three, but curiosity won out. "Reed?" 

"Of course. Malcolm Reed." 

Tucker gripped the faux grass, anything to hold on to himself, almost dizzy at the feeling of...jealousy? Yes, jealousy. Another eye-opener. Trip had thought he was over such a feeling as jealousy. It had been a mutual parting of the ways or, at least, he had thought it was. T'Pol's serene countenance did nothing to calm him. "You mean you... and he... you did... you know..." Oh, if only he could wipe that knowing smirk from her face, he took a deep breath to centre himself, "Let me get this straight, you and Malcolm Reed went... horizontal?" 

T'Pol laughed. She actually laughed. 

"No, Trip. What I mean is that, in our marriage, I was always at the bottom of your list." 

"I'm not even in your top three guys and you expect me to understand all this? We were married!" 

T'Pol caught his hands and held them up to her face. "I had your respect and a great deal of your affection, but I never had your love." She dropped his hands. "Your priorities never wavered. There was the mission and the ship. Then Archer and Reed. Then our son. Then me." 

"You make it sound so, so..." Trip trailed off. Truthfully he did not have words to describe how horrible she made their life together sound. Trip had always considered himself a 'family' man. Whether it was his 'family' back on Earth, or his 'family' on Enterprise; they were all essential, gave meaning to his own existence, this...list of his loved ones was almost more than he could take. As if he could prioritise...downsize when one, or another ceased... to be... 

But he had done that, hadn't he. 

When Lizzie had been taken from him he'd made her everything. Nothing in his life had mattered, compared to Lizzie. Not his family, not his friends, not his career. The only reason he cared about his captain and their ship... now he could admit it... the only reason he cared about his captain and his ship was because they represented a way, a road for him to get revenge. 

And it was all a lie. 

He didn't want revenge. He wanted his beautiful, warm, lively sister alive again. 

Nothing could bring her back. Not the captain, not the mission. Daniels? Daniels only showed up for the important stuff, the historical, recorded events. The extermination of one entirely innocent, blameless, funloving, joyful individual--even if it was in the company of millions like her--was not Daniels' concern. 

If one of those individuals was responsible for a cure for every known disease, would Daniels have saved them all? If one of those individuals was the father of the person who saved an entire species, would Daniels save that one? If one of the victims of that Xindi attack had lived, would they have gone on to destroy a civilisation? For the first time Trip caught a glimpse of the responsibility Daniels laboured under. It still did not make him like the man. 

Trip did not know himself anymore. He was tired of thinking the worst of everyone they met. He was tired of having to pretend that this was the way things were. He was tired of being alone with himself. He was tired of blaming himself for not being there, when Lizzie needed protection, when Malcolm needed him... 

Why was T'Pol was still talking? 

"I did not, do not, begrudge your affections, Trip." There was warmth in T'Pol's tone; a warmth which he had heard but rarely, mostly after their accupressure sessions. "I always knew where I stood. But Malcolm did not." 

And there, right there, Tucker was angry. He'd been criticising himself so candidly he didn't need his future wife to get in on the act. 

"Malcolm knows exactly where he stands," Trip said, through gritted teeth. "He's the Head of Security on Earth's First Strike Weapon. He's Chief Tactical Officer of Starfleet's Flagship. He's my friend..." 

"He's your lover." T'Pol interrupted gently. 

"He's... what?" 

"Malcolm Reed was your lover." 

"I know that." Trip had no strength left to do anything but whisper. 

"Did you really think that you would not tell me of him? You were never very discreet in matters of the heart." T'Pol smiled, somewhat sadly and then became brisk. "I believe you and Malcolm became intimate after the incident with the Cojenitor." 

Tucker remembered that incident with crystal clear regret. "Charles, she wanted to be called 'Charles'." he murmured. 

"Indeed. Captain Archer was understandably disappointed in you. But not for the same reasons you suppose. You embarrassed him, you embarrassed Starfleet Command. The Captain realised, even then, that inter-species communication was dependent on good-will and tolerance. You had an overabundance of one but not the other in that instance." 

"And Malcolm?" 

T'Pol lost her smile, "Malcolm was there for you," she said simply. "You did not notice. At first. He took up the slack and made a home in your heart." She stopped and faced Tucker's incredulous expression. "What?" 

"Have you any idea what you sound like?" 

For the first time T'Pol appeared nonplussed, "What do I sound like?" 

"Like a really third rate romantic comedy." 

T'Pol sniffed, "I am only repeating your account of events." 

"Oh," Trip was immediately chatesined. "What do you mean, my account?" 

"Just that. You told me all of this on our wedding night." 

"What a romantic I was." 

"No, a realist. And I respect that." 

"So what went wrong? What happened, between me and you, and Malcolm?" 

T'Pol took his hand again. "It was an accident. Reed and Archer were returning from recon on X37. The shuttle's inertial dampners failed as they entered the bay. The shuttle was destroyed. Reed survived, Archer did not." 

"I don't get you. Why would an accident split us up? Did Malcolm blame himself for the accident?" 

"No, Trip. You blamed Malcolm for the accident. It destroyed your relationship. Then Malcolm was killed on the next away mission. You regarded Malcolm's death as a form of self execution, at first. But over time, as your anger lessened, you came to regard it as suicide and you blamed yourself for making him so unhappy." 

Tucker was staring at her open-mouthed. She was describing his feelings like she was telling a story, and he didn't recognise himself in it at all. 

"I always considered your self claimed guilt in this matter to be melodramatic and rather arrogant. I do not believe that Malcolm killed himself, for love or for what he had lost. Malcolm was not the kind of man to allow his personal feelings to get in the way of his duty. But, perhaps, it was a contributing factor, purely from the point of view that he was not at his best. If that is the case then I was the one at fault. I sent him on that mission." T'Pol's composure slipped a little more. "I must confess, at the time, I was not as adept at reading human emotions or factoring in their effects when making command decisions as I am now. I have learnt some harsh lessons as Captain." 

"Why are you telling me all this?" 

"Because I want to change that future. In so doing I realise that I will be erasing our own time together and the existence of our son, but it is a risk I must take. You may not believe it, Trip, but I did love you. Your unhappiness coloured everything in our marriage." 

"You must have hated me." 

"No, never that. I regret that I was unable to lift you out of your guilt completely, but we were happy at times." 

"None of this will make any difference. We're in the future. Lizzie's dead. Jon's dead. Malcolm's dead. We have a son. We have a future." 

"No. We have no future." T'Pol gestured impatiently around. "Don't you see? This was never meant to happen." 

"So you say." Tucker interrupted. "But you don't know that. For all you know this is exactly as it's supposed to be." 

For a moment it looked as if Captain T'Pol was going to argue, but then she nodded and sighed, "You are correct." 

"Well then." Tucker echoed her nod. They looked away from each other, both uncomfortable. 

"The Vulcan Science Directorate has decreed that Time Travel does not exist," T'Pol said quietly. 

Now it was Tucker's turn to snort. "They sure fouled that one up, didn't they?" He smiled slowly. "That's why isn't it? They were wrong. You were wrong. Another chance is possible...," Tucker trailed off. He kept his thoughts to himself, "Guess we'll just have to see how it plays out, won't we?" 

T'Pol nodded. 

"Will I even remember this conversation?" 

"The probability factor is not high. How can you have a conversation with someone who doesn't exist? But, please, if Enterprise is thrown back in time, don't make history repeat itself." T'Pol took his hand again, "Learn to let go of your grief." 

Tucker looked down at their joined hands. She really must have loved, cared for him to put his happiness so far above everything else. "I'll try," he said softly. 

//How can you have a conversation with someone who doesn't exist?// 

Good question. 

But as the battered, old Enterprise swung out of the stars all ports blazing, Commander Tucker found his memory, his mind, playing him for a fool. Even as Tucker corrected the fluctuations in the warp drive and diverted power to the weapons, in front of him stood Malcolm Reed. Wounds healed, uniform torn, almost as torn as his expression. 

"How can you say that?" 

Tucker gasped. Hallucination, gotta be. And still he shouted, no screamed, "You killed him!" 

Malcolm half turned away, "You can't believe that." 

Tucker pounded on the warp console in his rage, "You. You killed Johnny. You killed the CAPTAIN! You wanted him dead!" 

Tucker recoiled from himself. He didn't mean that. Never that. It wasn't him saying these things. 

Malcolm and everything around him was fading, but Tucker caught the words, not so much a whisper, more an echo, "If you can think that, I can't believe I ever loved you." 

"No." 

"Commander, I need warp speed, now!" 

Blindly Tucker reached for the control. "You got it, Johnny..." as he slumped forward over the console. 

There was a buzz about the mess hall tonight, something that had been missing for too many nights. The successful mission, coupled with the unusual twist that their own great grandchildren had come to their rescue, had everyone in a more lively mood. In some ways it reaffirmed their resolve--the knowledge that they would find a way to continue, no matter what. It was comforting. 

Commander Tucker made his selections for his dinner and headed over to Malcolm Reed's table. The Lieutenant was sitting alone, reading a PADD, his discarded tray to the side. "Mind if I join you?" 

"Of course, Commander." 

Tucker flopped into a seat and began shovelling salad. To all intents and purposes a starving man in a land of plenty. 

"So... em,... how is the Armoury?" Tucker could feel his shoulder blades trying to meet in the middle. That was the most crass attempt to appear nonchalant, ever. 

"The Armoury is operating at eighty percent efficiency, sir. Obviously I would like to improve that rating, but that will not be possible until..." 

"I didn't mean the Armoury, Malcolm, I meant you." 

Nothing. Not a blink. No nothing. 

"I have tested all personnel involved in armoury duty using the same criteria, including the MACO's and myself, Commander. Our efficiency ratings are between 90.2 and 97.1 percent. Personnel are functioning well above expectations. The discrepancy lies in our procedures. On three occasions, so far, the MACO troops have been given advance notice of upcoming engagements but have not been given time to update the support teams..." 

"Cut it out, Malcolm. I wanted to know how you are." 

"I'm fine, sir, thank you for asking. Now, if my team are required for off ship manoeuvres..." 

Tucker deliberately laid his hand across Reed's. "Malcolm, please don't do this. Let me say I'm sorry for putting you through this." 

The Lieutenant regarded their overlapping hands for a moment. There might have been a slight softening of his expression, but even if there was it was momentary. 

Reed drew back his hand. "Commander, this is inappropriate. You made your feelings quite clear." He stood up to go. "I'll see you on the Bridge, Commander." 

Oh, so goddamn proper. Tucker was for a second so monumentally pissed off that he did not realise that Reed was leaving, no, not just leaving; gone. Without thinking Tucker bounded after him. 

"Malcolm!" 

"Was there anything else, Commander?" 

The corridor was empty. All he had to do was say the words. He could change the future. He could take it all back. He, they could move forward. If he could just say the words. 

Pride. He still had his pride. Pride ordered him to wave his lover away. Fear? Yes, a lot of fear. The heart, well the heart was all for begging. Trip Tucker was famous for following his heart. Now, now would be a good time to pour forth all his love, regrets... where to start? 

Compassion flitted across Reed's face, very briefly. "We have no future, Trip. None of us has." Then the blank mask was back in position. "Goodnight, Commander." 

Reed turned and disappeared around the corner. 

Tucker stood in the sterile corridor for a long time. 

Epilogue. 

X42. That was the place. He was supposed to be dead by now. 

The briefing had been short and swift. 

"We have reason to believe that the natives of this planet have dealings with the Xindi. Preliminary recon only, gentlemen. Find out what they know, discreetly." 

"Yes,sir." 

Hayes was efficiency personified. Didn't matter that he would probably have to look up 'discreet' in a dictionary... 

Reed surreptitiously kicked himself for such unprofessional thoughts and asked, "What is the designation of the planet?" 

It had become his standard line over the last few months and Archer answered with a very controlled hint of exasperation, "X42, Lieutenant. Dismissed." 

The rest of the crew left promptly. Reed lingered, staring at the image of the dull red ball. 

"Not much to look at." 

Commander Tucker's comment had broken his fixed concentration. 

"No, sir," Reed had replied. He had nodded his salute and headed for the 'lift. 

In the 'lift Reed had permitted himself a grim smile of satisfaction. The planet was not much to look at granted, but it was what Reed had been waiting for. In truth, this was the reason he had cut himself off from everyone. He was going to die here. 

"Hayes to Enterprise! Hayes to Enterprise! Respond!" 

The major cradled his wounded comrade, screaming into the communicator even as he continued to fire with his free hand. They were dead. Had to be. Even if Enterprise was still in range, even if the transporters were still working, even if they could make it those few extra metres, they were still dead. Not even a transporter could scramble their molecules quicker than the myriad of disruptor blasts falling around them. 

A different movement caught his eye. Not the luminescent glow of the blasts or even the transporter, this was the prosaic grey of a Starfleet uniform... Moving away... Drawing the enemy's fire... 

Every shot missed. Reed felt invincible. He knew what was going to happen. And yet it was not happening. He was open, he was firing, he was protecting his crew, and the incompetents still could not hit him. What was the matter with them? Had they not realised this was their chance? 

One of the shots took out a boulder close by and Reed was hit by several stinging pieces but the wounds were superficial and he kept going. 

"Nuts." Hayes was not aware he'd spoken aloud, then he snapped to. Lieutenant Reed's run had cleared a path to their pick up co-ordinates. He motioned what remained of his crew forward. "Go, go, go!" 

It was not the most elegant charge but, stumbling and limping, the survivors of this ill-advised mission congregated at the transport site. As the familiar tingling sensation of the transporter took him Hayes could have sworn he saw the orange-red fire of a Starfleet phaser cutting across the sky. 

Bobbing in and out behind and around scanty cover, Reed wondered why he was trying so hard. He'd seen the unnatural light of the transporter and knew the crew were safe. He kept waiting for the shot that would kill him, and every time something else seemed to get in the way: the rocks of the terrain, a trip from the enemy, a slip from him. 

This was not how it was supposed to be. 

Finally he crossed a patch of already scuffed ground, and that was it. 

Enterprise too had been waiting. 

Reed stopped just far enough into his quarters to let the doors close behind him. He held out his bandaged arm and touched the fingers of his other hand to his pock- marked but cleaned up face. 

No lasting damage, according to Phlox. 

No lasting damage. 

Reed sank slowly onto his bunk. 

X42. He was supposed to be dead by now. And yet, here he was. On his ship, in his quarters. 

In his quarters... 

Malcolm did not know if it was a conscious or sub-conscious decision, but his quarters were bare. Everything was neatly packed away. He looked around, seeing the empty walls, the packed up belongings. And he felt emotion. For the first time in months, he felt an emotion. He was so out of practise it took some moments to identify this emotion. It was not a good one, it was shame. 

Shame at what he had become, again. 

He always had to rely on himself. That had never been a problem, until Enterprise. There, here, he had learned to trust. And yet he had not been able to take that final leap, to trust his friends above himself, and this was the result. 

A bare room, all but ready for the next occupant. Would his friends, former friends, think he didn't care? 

A self-fulfilling prophecy. 

He had been dead. He was supposed to be dead. Now he wasn't. And he was terrified. 

What's your problem with having a little hope? 

Reed blinked. He did have hope, then, in a rapidly chilling shuttlepod. But here? 

For so long there had been no hope. 

And now Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was faced with the most terrifying thought of all. 

He had to go outside, ask to be let back in. Try to make up for all his mistakes. Try to look to the future. 

He could not do that. 

He had to do that. 

The doors to the mess hall opened. Reed stepped gingerly over the threshold habitually still scanning the room. He ducked his head and turned to the dispensers. It was no use. He'd never see his friends as anything other than targets. 

Reed jerked at a slight pressure on his arm and swivelled round to find Hoshi beside him. His eyes flicked behind her to see Travis standing by his chair with a welcoming grin, and even, yes, even Archer and Tucker emerging from the Captain's mess with encouraging smiles. 

"Welcome back." said Hoshi. 

~the end~


End file.
